


trick or treat

by pearlilly



Series: seasons [2]
Category: Dynasty (TV 2017)
Genre: F/F, Halloween, Pointless fluff, in which fallon is again soft and useless and an idiot, sarah enabled this, yes this is almost a month late bc i am an atrocity to god
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2019-11-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:00:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21529438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pearlilly/pseuds/pearlilly
Summary: in which Fallon and Kirby celebrate Halloween.
Relationships: Kirby Anders/Fallon Carrington
Series: seasons [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1512317
Comments: 13
Kudos: 30





	trick or treat

Fallon sat at the table in the sunroom, having her morning coffee and croissant and reading the various newspapers she had delivered to the manor every morning. She liked to read as many as she could get her hands on, interested in how the different outlets varied in their reporting of different stories. She might not be working as much as she’d like to, but that didn’t mean that she couldn’t stay up to date on the latest happenings in the business world.

Her treasured solitude of the previous few weeks had shifted, turning into something darker and far less pleasant than it used to be. Her relationship with Liam had all but fizzled. Blake and Cristal were still cavorting around somewhere - Charleston, the last she’d heard. The  _ Atlantix _ were well in hand, and even if they weren’t, Culhane would never have asked her for help, anyway. Sam had gone off the grid in Argentina, doing some kind of truly horrifying ayahuasca retreat that Fallon would never have agreed to. Anders wasn’t back yet, still tending to Steven - Fallon could barely even think about him without feeling a pang deep in the bottom of her chest. Painful as it was to think about, she missed her brother - well, the only one she claimed, anyway.  _ Adam -  _ the absolute miscreant that he was - had been skulking around lately, coming and going at unpredictable hours and lending to the general feeling of unease that hung about the manor and grounds. Unwilling to chance crossing paths with him, she’d taken to eating her breakfast in the sunroom instead of the main dining room. 

Kirby had never been formally invited, but she’d taken to joining Fallon anyway. Rather than push the girl away, Fallon had quietly doubled the number of croissants on her tray and added another mug and a copy of the  _ Sydney Morning Herald _ to the coffee table. After their trip to the pumpkin patch, she’d realized just how much she liked the redhead’s company, even if she didn’t understand  _ why _ quite yet. 

She felt an unexpected softness toward the girl; had felt it ever since the day after the Halloween dinner party. The gigantic pumpkin she’d had delivered stood proudly on the front step, and when she’d called Kirby to come see the surprise, the redhead had squealed and wrapped her in a huge, tight hug that somehow made Fallon’s chest ache. She’d tucked the feeling away in the depths of her mind, reassuring herself that she was simply lonely and that Kirby, with her vibrant - if somewhat troublesome - personality, was a reasonable source of the companionship she craved. 

There were soft footsteps as Kirby shuffled, rubbing her eyes, into the sunroom. She was still wearing plaid pajama pants and a band shirt so old that the logo had faded to the point of being illegible, standing out in sharp contrast to Fallon’s crisp silk robe and coordinating head wrap. She unceremoniously plopped down on the settee opposite Fallon, pouring herself a cup of coffee and stirring a concerning amount of sugar into it. 

“Morning,” Fallon greeted, turning the page of her newspaper.

“Yeah, good morning,” Kirby yawned, her accent tumbling out of her mouth even more noticeably than usual now that her voice was still thick with sleep. “Hand me the Sydney paper, would you?”

“Are your arms broken?” Fallon asked, but handed her the folded paper anyway as she exchanged the now-rumpled  _ Atlanta Journal-Constitution  _ for a fresh copy of the  _ New York Times. _

“Where’s the painful chocolate?” Kirby asked, setting the paper aside and piling croissants onto a china plate.

“It’s  _ pain au chocolat,”  _ Fallon corrected. “And I ate them. I didn’t think you were ever going to drag yourself out of bed.”

Kirby busied herself with buttering a croissant and didn’t dignify her with a response. There was a comfortable silence for a few moments as they both opened their papers and nibbled at their pastries, but it was quickly broken by Kirby’s exaggerated gasp.

Fallon lowered her paper, not even trying to hide the irritation on her face.  _ “What?” _

“Today’s Halloween. I didn’t realize it had come up already.”

“...So?” Fallon asked, unsure what the problem was.

“So, what are we doing?”

“What do you mean? We already had the dinner party.”

Kirby snorted. “That was last weekend! Don't tell me you stopped celebrating the actual holiday when I left.  _ I  _ sure didn’t.” 

Fallon paused. She had stopped celebrating Halloween the year she turned twelve, telling Blake and Alexis that she was too old for it. It had never felt like it was entirely true, but the holiday lost its spark, and she couldn’t figure out just where it had gone. Thinking about it now, though, the answer was suddenly clear: Australia. Kirby had left when they were eleven, and Fallon had never celebrated Halloween again. 

Aware that she’d been quiet for a moment too long, Fallon shrugged. “I guess it just always seemed like there was something more important to do,” she replied, and even as it came out she realized just how lame that sounded.

“Something more important to do when you’re  _ twelve _ _?_ Like what?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes. That’s depressing. I want to do something tonight.” Kirby let her lip poke out just a little, and Fallon found herself internally cursing her for somehow always getting her way.

_ “Fine,” _ she acquiesced. “I don’t want to go out or anything, though. Downtown Atlanta would be a nightmare. Full of handsy drunks or worse.”

Kirby flicked her fingers. “That’s not what I had in mind at all. We’re too old for that shit and Halloween isn’t even really a thing at home. Not for adults, anyway. I just wanted something low-key, maybe dressing up and handing out candy to trick or treaters. ”

“The staff usually does that,” Fallon dismissed, turning the page of her newspaper, but she had to begrudgingly admit that her interest was piqued.

“Oh  _ no _ , I’m sure they’d  _ hate  _ getting off early to take their own kids trick or treating.” Kirby rolled her eyes and pulled a fleck of pastry off of her croissant. “It would surely  _ kill _ you to dress up and hand out candy with me.”

Fallon groaned. “Why does everything you want to do always involve being surrounded by sticky little three year olds?”

“Why does everything  _ you  _ want to do always involve being in meetings surrounded by greying old men that look like they’re reanimated corpses?” Kirby shot back.

“Atlanta is old money, we’ve discussed that,” Fallon snapped. “Besides-”

“Fallon, I’m not trying to get into another argument about Georgia politics with you,” Kirby interjected, cutting her off. “Stop changing the subject. I’m handing out candy to trick or treaters tonight and watching a scary movie. Join me or don’t, I don’t care.” 

Kirby went back to her croissant, looking quite nonchalant as she did so. It irritated Fallon to realize that her indifference bothered her, and it burned even more to realize that she was pouting about it. She rolled her eyes, snapping her newspaper shut and setting her coffee cup back down on its saucer more forcefully than she meant to.

“Fine. But I get to pick the candy.”

* * *

Later that afternoon, there was a knock at her door, and Fallon opened it to find Kirby standing in front of her. She wore a long, sequined red dress that was slit to her thigh and purple silk gloves that Fallon thought she recognized from her own closet. Her hair tumbled around her shoulders in ornate curls, and she stood even taller than Fallon than she usually did, thanks to a pair of especially lethal stilettos. 

“Like what you see?” Kirby teased, and Fallon immediately reddened as she realized she’d caught her breath and had been giving the redhead a careful once-over.

“I’m just-- wondering what the hell you’re wearing,” Fallon said quickly, hoping that the snark would distract her. “Aren’t those gloves mine? And who are you supposed to be, Miss October?”

As she often did, Kirby ignored her, adjusting the gloves and preening a bit. “Purple does nothing for your complexion. And I’m Jessica Rabbit. Obviously. What are  _ you _ supposed to be?”

Fallon wilted slightly, suddenly abashed by just how little effort she’d put into her costume: a tennis outfit and visor, her frayed old racket leaning against the doorframe waiting for her to pick it up. Her makeup was done to perfection, as always, but it was left over from earlier and the overall effect was significantly less dazzling than Kirby’s outfit. She shrugged and didn’t respond, not wanting Kirby to pick up on her embarrassment anymore than she already had.

“Uh huh.” Kirby looked at her disapprovingly, and Fallon was surprised to feel her cheeks redden under her gaze. “I know this holiday doesn’t mean anything to you, Fallon, but you could at least  _ pretend _ to be interested.”

“I  _ am  _ interested,” Fallon protested. “I just didn’t realize we were going all out.”

Kirby snorted, clearly unconvinced. “A  _ Carrington _ didn’t realize we were going to go all out? Didn’t you throw a dog a birthday party last year?”

“It was a  _ cat,  _ and it was not a birthday party, it was a  _ quinceañera _ .” She folded her arms, feeling oddly defensive.

“Because that’s  _ so  _ much better. At least tell me you managed to handle getting the candy.”

Fallon rolled her eyes and pulled a shopping bag from the hook on the back of her door. “I’ve worked for a Fortune 500 company off and on since I was sixteen, and you think I can’t handle getting Postmates to deliver a few pounds of candy.”

“There’s no telling with you,” Kirby sniffed. “Especially with that costume.”

“Keep it up and I’ll stay up here, the trick or treaters will riot, and  _ you  _ can deal with it.” 

* * *

At first, handing out the candy had seemed like it would be fun. Fallon squirreled a few packets of Swedish Fish away into her pocket for later, and oohed and aahed appropriately at the various witches and monsters and princesses that came to the door. She’d bought enough candy that she could afford to be generous, and the squeals of delight from the children really did make her feel good in a way she hadn’t been expecting.

But then it never seemed to  _ end. _

The stream of trick or treaters had been going steadily for over two hours, and it was showing no sign of letting up anytime soon. They’d all but given up on their movie, having to pause it so frequently to answer the door that they were barely ten minutes into the film, and what they had seen was so piecemeal that Fallon couldn’t even tell what the plot was supposed to be. 

They’d started off taking turns, but the line of trick or treaters grew so large that both of them were soon needed to hand out candy. Fallon sighed as she waved off a pillowcase ghost and a robot, eyeing them carefully to make sure they made it down the steep steps and promptly exited the winding driveway. She didn’t remember Halloween being this stressful as a child, but then she supposed she’d never been on this side of it before. 

She’d already had to wrestle her racket out of the hands of two little boys that were making a game out of whacking each other with it. Some of the smaller children were particularly taken by Kirby, their eyes shining as they reached out sticky fingers to touch what was surely a real-life princess. Kirby would never admit to it, Fallon knew, but she was clearly growing weary. More than a few sequins were dangling haphazardly off of her dress, her hair was falling out of its curls, and her gloves were stained with chocolate. She kept shifting her weight from foot to foot, and Fallon realized the stilettos had to be killing her legs.

She cleared her throat, closing the front door and tightening her drooping ponytail. Kirby was knocking back a glass of champagne from the tray she’d set out on the front table. 

“I think it might be about time to close up shop, don’t you think?”

Kirby turned to face her, her upper lip glistening with the champagne. “It’s not  _ that _ late.”

“No, but…” Fallon paused. The last thing Kirby would respond to would be her concern that she was tired, so she decided to come up with another excuse. “We’ve already given out, like, ten pounds of candy, and the kids are completely ignoring the walkway. I just watched Spiderman stomp the hyacinths. Your dad is going to shit when he comes back and the gardens are ruined.”

“Isn’t spreading joy to children more important than that?” Kirby asked wryly, but Fallon could tell her resolve was weakening. 

“We’ve already spread joy to half the population of Atlanta by now. I’d say we’ve done our share. I don’t think the Halloween police are going to come after us.”

“Why would they,” Kirby smirked, “when the regular police are here so much.”

Fallon laid a hand on her chest, feigning a hurt expression. “Bold words from a girl whose country originated as a penal colony.”

“I’ve paid my dues.”

A flash of the car that had taken Kirby away screamed to the forefront of Fallon’s mind before she could fight it back. She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head, determined to push the memory away before it could affect their banter. 

“I think we both have, for tonight,” she said lightly, and reached over to flick off the porch light, letting any additional trick or treaters know that they were closed for business. “Maybe we can finally finish that movie. Or restart it, since I have no idea what’s going on.”

Kirby nodded sleepily, grabbing the bottle of champagne off the table and following her back into the living room. 

While Fallon fiddled with the DVD player, Kirby peeled off her gloves and set about undoing the complicated straps that held the stilettos to her feet. They had been perfect for the costume, but she wasn’t accustomed to wearing them for long periods like Fallon was and could tell that her calves would be sore in the morning. She dragged an overstuffed ottoman over to her spot on the sofa, propping up her feet and settling in with her bottle of champagne and the remnants of the candy bowl in her lap. 

When Fallon finally got the movie started over and turned to face her, she paused for a moment, watching as the redhead tried to hunt in her bowl for a packet of Sweet Tarts. She really did look tired. Her hair was almost completely straight again and her winged eyeliner was smeared along her temples. Fallon was glad she’d called it a night when she had.

“Ready?” Fallon asked, plopping down beside her on the sofa.

“Almost,” Kirby murmured. “If I could just find the--”

She stopped, cut off by the packet of Sweet Tarts that Fallon had apparently magically produced from her pocket and held out to her. 

“I remembered you liked them,” Fallon explained, pulling a few more packets out of her pocket. “And I like Swedish Fish. So I hid some for each of us. You didn’t think I was going to let the trick or treaters have  _ everything,  _ did you?”

Kirby smiled, gathering the Sweet Tarts out of Fallon’s outstretched hand and dumping them into her bowl for safekeeping. She was oddly touched by the gesture, a sort of warm feeling spreading through her at the knowledge that Fallon had remembered her favorite candy since they were eleven. 

Well,  _ maybe _ it was warmth. Maybe it was the champagne. 

Kirby ripped open a packet of Sweet Tarts and took another hit off the bottle. She’d left the flute in the foyer, deciding that it was just a waste of time. 

Fallon bit the head off of a Swedish Fish and settled back into the sofa as the shrieking score warbled out of the surround sound speakers and a pair of giant, bloody scissors filled the screen. Kirby had picked the movie.

“What is this about, again?”

“Girl goes crazy and kills her friends,” Kirby yawned, crunching on a Sweet Tart. “Starting with the pretty girl.”

“Mmm. Charming.”

They fell into a comfortable silence - there wasn’t much to talk about in the middle of a movie - and Kirby quickly downed the rest of the bottle to herself. It was barely the climax of the movie, and her eyelids were already drooping. Sighing, she set the bowl of candy on the ottoman and laid down on the sofa. 

Sudden pressure against her thigh coupled with the crescendo of strings on the movie’s score startled Fallon, causing her to drop a fish. She looked down to find Kirby, warm and tipsy, nestling her head into her lap. 

She bit her lip, fighting warring urges to either shove her away or... start playing with her hair? - because  _ that  _ wouldn’t be weird - trying instead to relax and remain nonchalant. Kirby was already nearly dozing, so Fallon grabbed the remote and turned the volume down to make sure she wouldn’t be disturbed - the movie was a little too gory for her, anyway. She looked so…  _ sweet  _ curled up like this, and the strange, swirling feelings Fallon had been trying to shove back in the recesses of her mind were swimming uncomfortably to the surface.

Once Kirby’s breathing evened out, Fallon carefully tugged the remaining packet of Sweet Tarts out of her fist and leaned over slightly to drop it back into her bowl. As she sat back up, her hand drifted downward to gently sweep a few wisps of hair away from her forehead.   
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Sarah for beta reading :)


End file.
